Draco's Story
by thedragonofbadfaith
Summary: Everyone knows Harry's side of the story. This is Draco's tale.


**Malfoy Manor**

Lucius raised his cane above his head, paused momentarily then, exhaling, he brought the cane down swiftly and ferociously with all the strength he could muster. The cane vibrated lightly as it made contact with its mark, vibrations Lucius felt resonating through his guilty arm. He'd felt the cane connect with soft flesh, felt the flesh press against the bone, felt the bone buck and buckle and give way. He looked down by his feet and felt sickened, revolted by the sight that beheld him. He could have easily accomplished this outcome with his wand, but the physical exertion of wielding a cane – using naught but brute strength to overcome the adversary – was always more ... gratifying. He was male, after all.

But was this truly his adversary; this small, pale, whimpering boy? Was this beating justified or would he later have to suffer his wife's lips curled into that all too familiar, haunting word? 'Excessive'. This boy was not the enemy, this child was his son. His only son. What had he done? Lucius' chest tightened and he felt overcome with guilt and remorse. He looked into his son's eyes – steel grey eyes – his eyes – then looked away disgusted. Not disgusted at the child, but by what he himself had done. The boy had to learn right? He had to be taught, right? Lucius turned abruptly on his heels and left the small bleeding body shaking uncontrollably on the floor. He was startled but not surprised, by the pair of bluest eyes that greeted him in the hallway. "He has to learn" Lucius muttered, more to himself than to her before turning and walking slowly down the hallway to his study, his black robes flowing behind him. He needed to sit down. His punishment would come. The burn, burn, burning of the firewhiskey and her too soft voice, her too pale lips curling into that all too, too familiar word

Excessive

His punishment would come. He needed to sit down. She would understand; she could always _understand. _

She did understand. Narcissa Malfoy understood her husband in a way no one else could. Her judgements of him had never been clouded by love. Not that she didn't love her husband, for she did love her him. Only it was not the silly, giggly, turn a blind eye sort of love. Hers was the sort of love born from respect and duty and grown and cultured over years of marriage. She had seen his public face as well as the face he hid from the rest of world. She knew what he'd given and what he'd given up. She was a shoulder for him to lean on, a light for his dark corner, she had held his hand when he needed a hand to hold. She had seen Lucius Malfoy cry. She was his pillar, his strength and she knew it. She had watched silently as the darkness overtook him – as it so often did – and he exploded onto his son. Her son. Their son. She watched her husband, like some wild beast defending its territory, rip and claw and smash into his son. Her son. Their son. She knew better than to cross Lucius when he was like that, knowledge grown and cultured over years of marriage. So she watched silently; watched as the darkness ebbed away until his eyes met her eyes in the hallway. Steel-grey eyes meet truest blue. The darkness was no longer there. That burning fury she saw in his eyes just moments before was gone. All that remained was regret and pain.

She looked at her little dragon broken, bleeding and sobbing on the cold, cold floor. She knew he was in pain. She too had _known_ that pain. But he was conscious. He would live. Narcissa took a deep breath and held it as her heart broke. She wretched her guilty eyes away from the room where her dragon lay and, exhaling, glided surely and silently behind the flowing black robe. She loved her son dearly, but right now Lucius needed her more.

Narcissa entered the study shortly after Lucius. He was sitting comfortably behind his large desk and had already managed to crack into the firewhiskey. She approached her husband and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're too hard on him" she chose her words carefully.

"He needs to learn."

She stroked his shoulder reassuringly. "I know. But that was a bit..." she couldn't stop herself "...a bit..." Her lips curled involuntarily into that too familiar word "...excessive". She felt her husband flinch at the word. It was punishment to him and she knew it although her intention was not to punish him. She wanted to calm him, to soothe him. She wanted him to know that she understood, although she did not approve.

"I want him to be the best, to have the best" Lucius began "the best of everything. I want him to grow up strong and proud. I want him to know right from wrong, to love and be loved, to have the strength to make a stand, the grace to accept the unchangeable". Lucius shook his head and took another crack at the firewhiskey. "I don't want him to be like me. Weak."

"You're not weak"

"I am weak" Lucius snarled.

Narcissa noticed his hand trembling as he poured himself another round of the amber distilment. His steel grey eyes were cloudy, the whites of his eyes tinged ever so slightly with red. She stroked him, patiently, not wanting to reawaken his anger. She knew when to pressure him and when to be silent. She remained silent.

"It was not supposed to be like this. I hadn't wanted this." Lucius shook his head sorrowfully "but I was weak, too weak. I want him to be proud of his heritage and true to the pureblood ways, but not at this price. I want him to embrace the dark arts, but not be consumed by them. I want him to know wealth and power, but I want him to also know friendship and love".

"I know", Narcissa surveyed her husband. He was a handsome wizard, he had always been. He had wrinkles now, around the eyes and mouth, his hair once bright blond now bore the slightest hints of silver and white, but he was still handsome. He still wore his hair long, to his shoulders, a reminder of his youth. She remembers too, the time when young wizards wore their hair long and witches wore flowers in their hair and all were full of ideas and ideals and possibilities. Things had not worked out as planned.

"I just want to ...to protect him"

"I know Lucius"

"I don't want him to be like me. I don't want to fill his head with foolish ideas and ideals. Where does it get you? Where does all of this goddamn war and suffering and destruction, where does it all get you?"

Lucius was attacking the firewhiskey now; he had foregone using a glass.

"I'll tell you where it gets you. It gets you dead" his voice dropped to little more than a whisper "It gets you tortured and dead. All those ideas and plans we had; they had become so twisted, and warped and distorted by the end. In the end we were no better than muggles or wild creatures. Kill or be killed. In the end it was the very love we fought for that was our undoing. Half of those pureblooded idiots didn't even know what they were fighting for – or didn't care. It was you I fought for, you and Draco, this family. And the only thing that saved us was our big fat bank account." His last sentence dripped with sarcasm.

Narcissa kneeled by her husband and took his free hand in both of hers. The pain and hurt in his voice was almost tangible. Narcissa didn't like the subject. Too many memories, too many bad memories. "It's over Lucius." She stroked his hand. "That's all over. Its time to forget and ..."

"FORGET!"

Lucius bellowed and jerked his hand out of Narcissa's.

"My parents are dead Narcissa. Your parents died too. Horrible, agonizing deaths. Should we forget them? Forget that our son will never know his grandparents? Will never know his sister? Should I forget the faces of the muggles I killed, or how about the purebloods? Should I forget when _avarda kedavra_ was a blessing because it meant you died quickly? Do you forget your sister and cousin locked away in Azkaban, tormented by dementors day in and out? Forget! How dare you tell me about forget when I see their faces everyday. All of them, everyone that I tortured and murdered. I see each and every one of their faces every single time I close my eyes. How can I forget? How can I forget Benevolia?" Lucius' voice was quiet again and he was choking back tears and chugging back firewhiskey "How can I forget my daughter? I held her, held her as she slipped away from me. She was innocent, and it was my fault. It was my fault that my own daughter died. I was weak. How can I forget?"

"It was a long time ago Lucius. You did what you could. You couldn't have known that things would have ended the way they did. You protected us the best you could. You are not weak."

"I am weak. I let my daughter die. I let Benevolia die." Lucius downed a long gulp. His penance burned the back of his throat. "_Dalai Eupho Amoro Todo Haut, Eternius"_ Lucius chuckled as the words rolled effortlessly off of his tongue. "Now _that,_ I can forget. That load of bullshit!"

Narcissa, still kneeling by her husband, pressed her head against his leg and he absently stroked her hair. She did not like when he ranted about the past, but she would not argue with him. Not now he was well drunk. She hoped he would change the subject. He seemed to read her thoughts.

"You know Dumbledore is trying to admit a mudblood into Hogwarts this year. Granger, Something Granger. Her paperwork passed through the Ministry this week. Scores off the chart" Lucius snorted "Where does he find them? I wonder. You know" Lucius leaned forward his face so close to Narcissa's she could smell the firewhiskey he exhaled "Karkarov would never allow a muggle-born into Durmstrang." Lucius chuckled again and leaned back in his chair. "Karkarov is a bigger coward than I am. They are rumours you know, that _he _is still alive, still out there."

Narcissa knew that 'he' did not refer to Karkarov. She did not wish to entertain this conversation. She had done enough of her wifely duty to comfort her husband. She had listened as he dug up all the painful memories from the past and she hurt too. She could not now endure to talk about 'him' especially since she had heard the rumours too. "They are just rumours, dear." She patted his hand as she stood up. He was drunk. He would soon fall asleep right at the desk where he sat. He did not need her anymore. It was time to check on her son. His son. Their son. She flashed a quick smile at Lucius and turned to leave the study. She opened the study door and her husband called after her:

"Sissy"

Narcissa paused, and then turned to face Lucius.

"I think he should go to Hogwarts, just in case, you know."

Narcissa smiled and nodded. Lucius grinned an intoxicated grin and raised his almost empty bottle in a toast. "To Dumbledore the old fart, _Dalai Eupho Amoro Todo Haut, Eternius" _Then raising the firewhiskey bottle to his lips, he drained its contents.

Narcissa closed the door to the study behind her. She sighed. "I need some _morphinium_" Hardly had the words left her lips when Dobby appeared with a vile of the quasi-illegal potion. Authorisation from the Department of Health Magic was supposedly required to obtain, distribute or be in possession of _morphinium_. The Malfoy bank account, however, served as authorisation for many things. She could not take Draco to St. Mungo's. Eyes would see; lips would talk. This would have to do. Holding the vile in one hand, Narcissa withdrew her wand with the other as she entered the room where her little dragon lay broken on the cold, cold floor, in a pool of his own half-dried blood. His arms and legs were bent in the wrong places and wrong directions. She could see bone piercing through the flesh, the last place he was struck with the cane. His hair was matted and bloodied and clotted blood under his nose and around his mouth marred the bruise that was his face. She wasn't sure if he was conscious or not, his eyes were swollen shut. She kneeled by him and got to work with her wand. Draco flinched. He was conscious. He moved his lips and coughed, spitting blood.

"Shhh my little dragon, don't try to speak. Mother is here."

Draco tried to speak again, but failed again. He hoped his mother had brought him some _morphinium_; he was in a lot of pain, although he was unsure if he could actually swallow at this point. He could feel the magic from his mother's wand – repairing his body, rebuilding his body. But he is more than a physical body and he is hurt and angry. It was not the worst beating he had suffered at the hands of his father – that had happened two years ago when he made an offhand comment about the joy of being an only child. His father flew into a rage. His mother sobbed. Both wand and cane were used. Today, it was six words that enraged his father. Six words that Draco hadn't heard in a long, long time; six words Draco knew were somehow connected to the dark tattoo and were never, never ever to be repeated. '_Dalai Eupho Amoro Todo Haut, Eternius' _Severus had whispered it to Lucius earlier in the day. Draco heard, the words stuck in his head, he wondered what they meant. He knew better than to ask, but what does that matter when your father can read your thoughts?

Draco felt his mother's hand under his head, raising it slightly. He smelt the pungent, familiar smell of the _morphinium. _

"Drink, my little dragon"

Draco tried to swallow, it was painful, but he knew each sip would be worth it. His mother stroked his hair soothingly. But it was not soothing Draco. Why was she pretending to be so nice to him now? Had she not turned her back to him but a few moments ago? Lucius had beaten _him._ Was he not more deserving of love and care and attention than his father? He, Draco, was the victim, and she'd turned her back. She went to Lucius first; she always went to father first.

"Your father loves you. I hope you know that. He's been through a lot, you mustn't aggravate him. But he does love you, very, very much."

Oh really? Draco thought. Is this how you show your son love, by beating him senseless? Why is it my fault that he beat me? For hearing? For thinking? Why is it always my fault? He was beginning to loose consciousness. _Morphinium. _Perhaps there was someway he could block his thoughts. He resolved to ask his godfather about it. His mother's stroking was soothing after all and he drifted off.

"Can you still hear me dragon? Your father has decided to send you to Hogwarts. Did you hear me my little dragon? Hogwarts."


End file.
